


Man In The Box

by ashleyfanfic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dramione_remix, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyfanfic/pseuds/ashleyfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healer Hermione Granger’s new patient could pose a problem for both her and her friends, only she doesn’t quite see the danger. Will she save them all or fall down a dark hole where she can never return?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Man In The Box

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N 1** : Huge thanks go to Kim (aka amethyst18) for the huge amount of beta work she did on this thing. The finished product you have before you is a result of her having to wade through the crap that I turned in to her and what you have now is all her doing. I told her to push me, to be picky, and I think she did a fantastic job as a beta and a cheerleader! Thanks, Kim! Also, as I'm now posting this here, Raa is giving it a huge overhaul and correcting my terrible grammar. She's amazing!
> 
> **A/N 2** : This chapter and all of the subsequent chapters are brought to you by the song “Man In The Box” by Alice in Chains. Not only does it have the feel I was going for, but the words actually worked in this instance. 
> 
> **A/N 3** : This is much darker than I’m used to writing. In fact, it may be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. However, I love the pairing of Joker/Harley Quinn because it’s so dysfunctional. It’s probably the only part of the Batman series that I’ve ever actually liked. So, this is a result of my love for Joker/Harley. 
> 
> **A/N4** A lot of the interactions between Draco and Hermione have been taken from a video game. I’ll give you the link at the end of the fic so you can watch it yourself. (If I give it to you now, that might ruin what’s coming and I don’t want to do that!)

Hermione felt that her life was perfectly in order. At the end of the war, she had been faced with choices as to the path she wanted to take: join Harry and Ron as an Auror or pursue a different venture all together. Truthfully, she’d had enough of chasing down bad guys when they just ended up behind bars for the rest of their life. It was one of the motivating factors behind her decision not to join Harry and Ron; simply put, she felt that putting people away in Azkaban didn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things. She wanted her life to matter—and to be important. So she decided to go back to Hogwarts to complete her final year. Unsurprisingly, at year’s end, she made top marks on all her NEWTs and had offers from several different departments within the Ministry. They were tempting offers; the world stood before her, and all she had to do was figure out what path she would take.

It was a difficult choice. A research field would have been ideal, but the money wouldn’t have funded her flat, and so she had turned to the only other thing she was interested in: being a Healer.

Hermione wasn’t actually interested in Healing the sick; rather, she had an interest in the mind. The war was the cause of this fascination. What made a boy like Tom Riddle turn into the cold-blooded killer he became? And what of the people who followed him? How did the crème of the crop, the top of the magical order, get sucked into the deliberate ruse of pure-blood supremacy? How was it that people came to believe they were better than others in the first place? She wanted to examine this, wanted to find out all she could. It was her true desire to scratch at this topic—and find the answers the world needed to avoid another war.

Having spoken at length with Hermione about her dreams of becoming a Psychological Healer, Madame Pomfrey sent her to St Mungo’s to speak with Healer Smithe, an older woman who reminded Hermione of her favorite teacher, Professor McGonagall. Under Healer Smithe’s tutelage, Hermione quickly found that, despite the subject’s hazy theoretical underpinnings, the interactions between mental illness, post-traumatic stress, and societally imposed superiority complexes interested her greatly. As she regularly suffered from nightmares of a cackling Bellatrix, she understood the grisly aftereffects of traumatic events. But she wanted to know what would cause a person to begin to inflict harm on others, even to go so far as to kill someone.

After four years of case studies and shadowing, she was finally allowed to pick the first patient that she would see to all on her own. She’d pored over the stack of files Healer Smithe had given her relentlessly, wavering between the St Mungo’s patients and Azkaban prisoners.

From the first, there had been one file that she set aside as a definite ‘no’. But the more she thought about it, the less clear that ‘no’ became. He was probably the best candidate for her study; his case had all the aspects of what she wanted to study. He was both a victim and a perpetrator. He was tormented and yet, had been a killer. She felt drawn to his file and no matter how many other files she sifted through, she continued to think about his case.

Finally, she opened his file and read the case notes from the others who had worked with him before. He hadn’t given them anything. For their trouble, they had only received cold stares. There were notes from the warden stating that he had a nasty temper and often fought with the other inmates, usually in self-defense. It was clear to her that his case was the one she needed—and that he was the only one who could possibly provide answers to the research she was currently involved in.

On a dreary Monday morning, she stood outside of his cell and found him reclined on his bed, his hands folded beneath his head. Hermione conjured a chair in the hallway outside his cell and examined the file momentarily, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. When she looked up, she was startled to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees and his head tilted. The look on his face wasn’t cold or malicious. It was, however, measuring, which made her feel a bit uncomfortable.

“You look familiar,” he said finally, his voice nothing like the nasally pitch she remembered. Instead it was gruff, probably from the lack of use, she surmised.

She cleared her throat, a bit affronted by the fact that he didn’t remember her. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Bullshit,” he said quickly. His eyes narrowed a bit and then he smirked. “Oh, yes. I see it now. Finally managed to tame your unruly hair, I see.” His eyes roamed over her and she managed to not squirm where she sat, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he made her uncomfortable.

His skin was nearly grey from the lack of sunlight. His hair, once platinum and long, was shaved against his head, like the other prisoners. She’d heard tales from Harry and Ron that Azkaban, on more than one occasion, had problems with lice. She thought surely a magical institution, even a prison, could control such a problem. She noticed that his fingers and hands were bone. His eyes stood out against his gaunt face and she wondered exactly how badly the inmates in this prison were treated. Could it possibly be that these less-than-ideal conditions had, many times, amplified the psychopathic tendencies of the people kept here? She heaved a great sigh and addressed him in a voice that was pure professionalism. “I’m here to do an interview with you—actually, several interviews. I’m your new Psychological Healer.”

He snorted. “The last lot ran out of here the first day. They called me ‘incompliant’.” He looked pleased with this, and, clearly, he hoped that she would do the same.

“I’m not most people,” she said, removing a pen from her pocket. “There’s nothing you could say that would shock or appall me.”

His eyes narrowed as a sadistic smirk formed over his lips. “I highly doubt that, Granger. I’m sure I could say all sorts of things that would put your polished white knickers in a right twist.”

She rolled her eyes. While she wanted to believe that she couldn’t be offended by the likes of him, she was fairly certain that he would be able to put her off her game if he so chose. Malfoy always had a knack for getting under her skin. But she was determined and that was something. The others had taken his case to gain notoriety; she took it because she remembered how he had been sixth year. His task had bothered him. So she knew: he wasn’t as unaffected by everything as he liked to seem. And she would be the one to break the walls. It wasn’t a simple matter. Getting the information she needed, getting him to open up to, of all people, her would be difficult, but… if she got everything on the table, then maybe he could start to work through it. That was the goal, and she knew it would be satisfying when she got there. Sometimes Hermione could be an optimist.

“So, let’s start. Tell me about your childhood.”

He sat back and stared at her briefly before he moved back on the bed and resumed his previous position. “Go away, Granger. I haven’t divulged anything willingly in years. I won’t start baring my soul to the likes of you.”

“A Mudblood, you mean?”

He lifted his head and pursed his lips for a moment. “Actually, that word hadn’t entered my mind. But now that you mention it, yes, that too.”

She sat staring at him as he leaned back and looked at the stone ceiling, ignoring her presence. And there she sat, for nearly the full hour she had intended to interrogate him, asking questions that he didn’t acknowledge. She finally sighed and stood up, the chair she conjured disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Hermione looked at the prisoner on his cot and left him with words in which to ruminate: “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Malfoy. I can keep coming here to sit and stare at you. We can do this however long you like. But maybe, just maybe, it might help you if you actually talked to someone. See you tomorrow, Malfoy,” she said as she walked away.

*~*

“He was wholly unhelpful,” Hermione said as Harry handed her a beer. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Why would you want to help him?” Ron asked after taking a sip of his own beer. “He’s a lousy, murdering git.”

Hermione looked at Ron, her brow furrowed. “Alright, I’ve read his file backwards and forwards. I know his case. How was he convicted of killing his father? You two worked the case, so I’m asking you as my friends but also as Aurors. I want to know the inside details that no one else knows. I need something to help me get through the false bravado he’s displaying. So I need to know—how, exactly, was he convicted this crime?”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his hair. “Everyone believes he murdered his father.”

“But there’s no evidence to support that! I read it in the file. It was all testimony from other people.”

Ron shook his head. He slowly removed the label from his bottle, pointedly avoiding eye contact with her. This, unfortunately, was a common occurrence between them lately. He always got antsy when she started to ask about their cases. But he gave her more of an answer than she expected. “We never found a body, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then why did you arrest him?” At this they both looked uncomfortable, and Hermione noticed a look pass between the two. She knew they were torn between whether or not to divulge this sort of information to Hermione, who had essentially become his case worker. But she was going to force them to tell her, one way or another. “Well?”

Harry shrugged then leaned back in his chair. “We got a tip that it was him. It was owled to us—one of those non-distinct owls you can purchase for use on the streets of Diagon Alley. No one remembers who sent it or anything …”

“So, he was convicted on an anonymous tip? That could have come from anywhere or anyone. Possibly even the real killer! How long did you look for this person and their anonymous tip that, from all records I can find, only gave you the information you already thought to be true. I’ve read the reports. He was always your number one suspect.”

“There were other things,” Ron said, cryptically.

“Such as?”

“We had a witness, one who wished to remain anonymous, say that the large influx of money the Malfoys had just come into gave Draco ample motive to kill his father.”

“How did that happen? How could you have a witness that the courts allowed to stay hidden? Malfoy’s barrister argued very convincingly against it!”

Harry sighed. “All I can assume is this person is very well connected politically. But he wasn’t forced to come in and testify; they just read off his statement. And unlike most hearsay, what he said about Lucius and Draco’s relationship stood in court.”

”But Malfoy’s barrister didn’t like that at all,” Hermione prodded, hoping she could get more. “I could see it from the court documents on the case.”

“No, he did not. He kept insisting that someone was framing Draco for some nefarious purpose. What, he never said, but the truth is there was nothing his lawyer could really say to refute the testimony.“

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table. “It sounds like a really flimsy case.”

Ron rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “It convicted him, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but how many people voted in favor of that simply because of who he was?”

“Let it go, Hermione. Don’t pick at a scab.” Ron finished his beer and ordered another.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron, but Harry stopped them before they could start to fight. “So, Hermione—Ginny said she wants you to owl her about bridesmaid shopping!”

Clearly, he didn’t want her to fight with Ron, again. That was fine by her. She wondered if she could get Malfoy to talk about his case, about how all the evidence against him was patchy and incomplete. It wasn’t really evidence at all, just coincidence.

Harry waved his hand in front of her face, and she looked up to find him smiling at her. “You look a million miles away,” he said, taking another sip.

"Just thinking,” she said with a smile. “Tell Gin I’ll owl her tomorrow.”

*~*


	2. Ultraviolence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Kim and Raa for betaing this for me! They've done a superb job. 
> 
> Changes from the original include sentence structure and some dialogue, but nothing plot wise!
> 
> One more note, the chapter titles are actually the songs I listened to while working on the chapter. This one is brought to you by "Ultraviolence" by Lana Del Ray

A month had gone by, and Hermione had visited Azkaban every day. Every day, in an attempt to get information for her research, she hoped that she could find a topic to make him talk. She broached his childhood, his friends, even his father, who he was accused of killing.

After all her research into his case, his past—she had even gone so far as to interview his former friends—she was no closer to getting him to open up to her than she had been the first day. She decided to forgo the interrogation rooms as they weren’t conducive to conversation. Instead, she sat just outside his cell, allowing him total access to his space, even if it was behind bars. Every day she would show up, conjure a chair, and put up some wards to keep their conversation private, and every day, he ignored her presence. He would even urinate in front of her as if she wasn’t there. It was taxing and infuriating, and she was slowly losing her willpower to continue fighting, despite her personal convictions.

Today, he was reclined on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded beneath his head. Again, he ignored her completely. He didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t roll, and he didn’t even snort in derision when she asked him something she knew would irritate him. He was blank. It annoyed her to no end.

She wasn’t one to give up, though. She always persevered. She had never been one to be put off by a nasty attitude, especially not from the likes of him. He’d made a special effort in school to torment her and her friends, so seeing the less than hospitable side of Draco Malfoy wasn’t new. But being utterly ignored day after day, when she was actually there to help him infuriated her. She did her best to hide her aggravation and kept her tone light. She had one last hope to get him to talk. If this didn’t work, she didn’t know what would. In fact, she was pretty sure that if he didn’t react to this question, then she would have to find someone else as the Healer overseeing her research would insist she move on to someone else.

She tapped her pen against the pad in front of her where she sat beside the bars of his cell. She looked over at him and said plainly. “Did you kill your mother?”

And that was it. She saw a slight widening of his eyes and he held his breath for only a moment. She tried to contain her smile. So Draco Malfoy wasn’t immune to everything, after all.

“You don’t have an alibi, and she was killed in your home. And I believe, you were also the one to find her, yes?” She let the question hang in the air momentarily and then continued, “My sources tell me that it appeared to be an accident; she had fallen down the stairs, it seemed. But little details came out. She had her wand in her hand, like she was getting ready to defend herself, and the angle at which she landed was not actually possible, unless someone had helped her fall…”

She turned to look at him, as she had been writing down his visceral reaction to her taunts, and found him standing, his hands gripping the bars right above her head and he was glaring with hatred, the type of pulsing, violent hatred that hadn’t been directed at Hermione in years. Even with the bars, he might have been able to grab her, but she slipped out of the chair and took a large step back.

“Let’s get this straight, Mudblood, I didn’t kill my mother. And if you ever insinuate that I did again, I’ll find a way to make you suffer every day for the lie.” His voice was hard and angry, and for a brief moment, she was overwhelmed with fear.

Her hands shook, and she was breathing hard, but she bit back the apprehension and plowed on with her strategy. “If you won’t talk, then all we have is the evidence, and all the evidence points at you. If you want me not to talk about it, then you’ll have to open up.”

He continued glaring at her, but tilted his head, obviously considering her proposition. “Why the fuck would I tell you anything? You’re just like your friends—close-minded! You’re just out to get those of us who used to be powerful, to make us suffer because you still feel slighted. So, fuck that. Fuck you, too.”

She scowled at him and stepped closer to the bars. “Don’t you ever wonder how you, Draco Malfoy, were tricked by Voldemort? Your family had everything, but still you fell to the mutterings of a mad man. Your elitist family became nothing more than pawns for him to use in his vendetta against the world your people made him feel he wasn’t good enough for. Don’t you ever wonder why?”

“Actually, I don’t. I don’t care,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “One of the only things I have power over in this hell hole is whether or not I choose to talk to anyone. And I retain my right to be silent. Forever. You can come back every day for the rest of your life, but I will never tell you anything, you simpering little twit. Even though I’m in here and you’re out there, you can’t make me do anything, and if you do, you’d be no better than your pathetic friends. Who I believe you don’t know at all. Perfect little Potter and his innocent sidekick, Weasley.” He stopped talking, presumably to watch her silently fume over the jab at her friends, but soon continued, with a smug look on his face, “Why don’t you do a case study on the two of them? After all, they’d be willing to talk to you, and I’m sure they’ve taken more lives than anyone actually knows about. In pursuit of fucking justice, of course.”

She tilted her head, then smiled. “Actually, your little diatribe has given me enough to ponder and research. You spent years feeling inferior to Harry, Ron, and even me. And now, you’re holding a grudge. You can’t let go of the past. We’ve moved on.”

He stared at her through his dark lashes. “You have an annoying lack of curiosity that I despise.”

She found this statement odd considering her attempts to get him to open up about any aspect of his life. However, this seemed to be a new and interesting avenue that she could possibly use to her advantage.

“If it’s my lack of curiosity that you hate, then I guess we have moved forward,” she said, tucking her pen into the pocket of her jacket. “I will be back tomorrow. And every day after that. And I’ll continue to insist that you speak to me.” She folded her arms over her chest and heaved a sigh. “But I will ask you this, what do you really have to lose by talking to me?”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and left.

*~*

She entered Azkaban the next day and signed in as she usually did. From the list of sign-ins, she saw that Harry and Ron were actually there in an interrogation room with Malfoy. The guard told her that she’d have to wait for them to finish.

She watched the minutes tick by, wondering what her friends were up to. It wasn’t uncommon for Aurors to revisit prisoners for information about current cases, but neither of them had said anything to her about interrogating Malfoy. Finally, the door opened, and Harry and Ron exited. Hermione noticed that Ron tucked his hand into his pocket quickly, but she decided not to comment.

“Hi, Hermione,” Harry said, his eyes darting to a red-faced Ron. “Still trying to interview Malfoy?”

“Yes. We had a bit of a breakthrough yesterday,” she said with a nod. She looked to Ron and frowned. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Just here on business for the Ministry.”

“What sort of business?” She asked as she folded her arms over her chest. “I saw that you were in an interrogation room with Malfoy. Why?”

Harry looked to Ron, who seemed to be glaring at him. Heaving a sigh, Harry said, “We’ve had some Death Eater activity recently. We thought Malfoy might be able to supply us with a little information.”

As he talked, Hermione took in the smattering of blood on Ron’s collar and the bruising around the knuckles of the hand he had crammed halfway into a pocket. It was clear that it had not been a typical interrogation.

“So you beat him for this information?” she asked.

“Stay out of it, Hermione,” Ron said, stepping between her and Harry. “In fact, find someone else to do your little experiment on. Malfoy is nothing but trouble.”

“Really? Somehow I think you’re more dangerous to him than he is to anyone else.” As she was trying to make a point, she conveniently left out his attack on her yesterday.

“Hermione, he’s a murderer, and he might have information we need,” Harry said pragmatically.

“Information or no, you don’t have the right to assault a prisoner who can’t fight back.”

Clearly upset, Ron left the prison. Harry and Hermione watched him go. When he was gone, Hermione huffed out a breath and turned to face Harry, who was now staring at her.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but you need to be careful,” Harry said. “Malfoy is dangerous. I get what you’re trying to do, and I admire it, but I have to warn you off of it as I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.”

Hermione frowned. “It seems to me that the only person who might get hurt is Malfoy. I’m a big girl, Harry. I can take care of myself. I think I’ve proven that over the years.” With that, she brushed past him and into the bowels of the prison.

She walked faster than she normally would, curious to see if they had even bothered to heal him after inflicting such pain. As she reached his cell, she took in a quick breath; Malfoy had his shirt off and was holding the grey fabric to his bleeding nose. She could already see what appeared to be a boot print on his right side. He was looking at her with disdain.

“Son of a…” she muttered under her breath, reaching for her wand. She pointed it at him.

He scrambled back into the corner, dropping the shirt and holding his hands in front of his face.

For the first time in years, she felt sympathy for Draco Malfoy. Ignoring his pose, she healed first his ribs then his nose. She heard the bone snap back in place, and the accompanying “Fuck!” which Malfoy hissed in pain.

She conjured her usual chair and sat upon it heavily. Hermione was at a loss. Malfoy’d been injured, and her friends had done it. She ran a hand through her hair, then leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

When she looked up, he was leaning back against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest. His bloody shirt lay on the bed in front of him. He stared at her, but not in contempt. “Is this a trick?” he asked.

“What?”

“Did you send them in there to beat me up so you could swoop in like some sort of angel and heal me and get me to trust you and open up?”

“I wish I could say I was that devious,” she said. “No, I didn’t send them in. Did you tell them what they wanted to know?”

He was quiet again, and then he heaved a sigh. “Fuck,” he said as he thumped his head back against the wall. “Granger, I really hate you.”

“Great,” she deadpanned.

“I told them what they wanted to hear. After the broken nose and what I’m sure was a broken rib, I was tired of being assaulted and just said it.”

“So, you did know about the Death Eater activity?”

He gave her a funny look. “Right. Death Eater activity. Because from in here I have a plethora of knowledge about the goings on outside these walls. Regardless of what they told you, I told them what they wanted to hear.” She didn’t know what he meant by that and before she could question him about it he pulled his shirt over his head, apparently unconcerned that it was still covered in blood. “This…interview process…what is it you want to know?”

She sat forward on her chair a bit. “Well, everything, of course. I know a lot, having read your file and some of the reports from the Ministry…”

“Because they’re known for telling the truth,” he said flatly.

“But what I’m after is your motivation,” she finished quickly, hoping that whatever was causing him to talk to her would continue.

He ran a hand over his shaved head and touched his healed nose. “Fine.”

“Fine? You mean, you’ll answer my questions?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the question and if I feel like answering it or not.”

She was momentarily stunned. Then, she came to her senses and reached into her back pocket for her pen. She enlarged the pad she’d brought, wrote down the date, looked up to find Malfoy’s eyes fixed pointedly on her chest. When she cleared her throat, the full force of his stare redirected itself to her face.

“Right,” she said, hoping to keep her stuttering to a minimum. He still made her very uncomfortable, but the prospect of getting what she was after was too enticing to pass up. “First, know that I’ll keep everything you tell me confidential. And if I do ever publish anything from our talks, I’ll never use your name or any other identifying information.”

He gave her a nod and a wave.

“Okay, um, first, what was your childhood like?”

He blinked at her a few times and shook his head. “Really? That’s your first question?” He sighed. “I expected more,” he muttered. Then he shrugged. “I grew up pampered. I got what I wanted when I wanted it.”

“And your relationship with your family?”

“I was close to my mother and…I always sought my father’s approval.”

She wrote that down. “Was your relationship with your father difficult?”

He looked at the bed and pursed his lips. “It became so when I started Hogwarts. Before that I lived a charmed life where I was the center of their universe, and I thought nothing could ever change that. In terms of my mother, that never changed,” he said softly.

“Your father, though, changed?”

He thumped his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “We both changed. Going to Hogwarts and being faced with others…whether it was the great Harry Potter or his bushy-haired sidekick, I had come to realize that, like everyone else, my name wasn’t always going to put me ahead in the world. Although I guess if my last name had been Potter, it might have been different…”

“I recall that your father was rather disappointed that you were first in our year in terms of grades.”

“No. I was second,” he said, leveling a look at her. “I only outranked in Potions. And I know what everyone thought. Everyone was sure it was because Snape was fixing the results. But I proved that theory wrong in first year.”

“How did you do that?”

“Of course you wouldn’t know. A few professors didn’t believe that I could top you in a subject. They all knew I was intelligent, but they were sure no one could top the golden girl of Gryffindor. So I had to take an exam in front of the other professors without Snape present. The Draught of Living Death.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up.

Malfoy smiled bitterly. “Yes, Granger, I brewed it as a first-year. When I was older, I understood it a bit more…the politics of it all…but of course as a first-year, I didn’t understand it in the least. It was only later that I realized they had planned to tout you as the brightest witch in an age because you were a Mudblood, a Gryffindor, and Harry Potter’s best friend, to boot. Anything that they could do to inflate his reputation they would do.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I really did take that exam, you know,” he said softly. “I got top marks, naturally. I was always adept at Potions. Until sixth year when you and I came in second to Potter…and even then, there were extenuating circumstances.”

Hermione frowned, thinking of how Harry had cheated with the Half-Blood Prince book. “Let’s get back to the topic of your father,” she said. “You said your relationship changed when you got to Hogwarts, but what was it like before that? Were you close?”

Malfoy was quiet. He examined his nails briefly before he went back to staring at the ceiling. “I thought we were. I thought that I was everything to him.” He paused for a moment, obviously picking his words carefully. He then took a deep breath and continued, “I was the one glorious deed he’d gotten right in this world. But then I didn’t measure up to others in school, and I think at first he simply thought that I was being mistreated. I was getting unfairly judged because everyone wanted to see the Malfoy family fall, and what better way to do that than to trip a child who is learning?”

Hermione took in the bitter quality of his voice, and she figured that somewhere along the way he truly had started to believe what he was now telling her.

Malfoy shrugged. “But after a few years, he knew the problem was me. I wasn’t good enough, really.” He shook his head. “And I was constantly told that everything I did was for the good of my family, the continuation of our greatness.”

“That had to have put a terrible burden on you,” she said in the silence and his eyes caught hers again. And she nearly shivered at the coldness she saw in them. There was clearly no love lost between Draco and his father.

“I was thirteen,” he said. “I was thirteen when I realized that I might be heir to the Malfoy fortune, but in my father’s eyes, I was a miserable failure who would never live up to his expectations. I tried, for years, to be what he thought I should become, but one day I just came to the realization that the family be damned, I was not going to try to live the rest of my life according to what he thought I should be. I would no longer sacrifice myself for the greater good of the Malfoy family.”

“Did you kill your father?”

He gave a cold, unfeeling smile. “You may have healed me, but you’re not getting a simple yes or no to that question.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course not,” she said, dryly.

Yawning, he said, “If it’s all the same to you, Granger, I’ve sort of been through it today, what with your friends beating me and your questions forcing me to relive my childhood, so if you don’t mind, I think we should end this conversation while I’m still feeling hospitable towards you.”

Knowing she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him today, she nodded. “Alright. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She stood, waved away the chair, and put her things away. For a moment, she stood staring at his prone form on the bed.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, she turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and Review. Do you know of the relationship between the Joker/Harley Quinn? Do you think you know what's going to happen? Am I portraying the characters in a way that you feel does justice to the original couple? Let me know what you think and I look forward to hearing from you!


	3. Confirmation of Bad Deeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kim and Raa for reading over this for me!

After Hermione had a long conversation with the Azkaban warden about the legal ramifications of allowing authorities to abuse their power and brutalize the prisoners, it was decreed that all Aurors and MLE members had to be chaperoned by a legal representative at all times when visiting the prison. Hermione personally delivered the news to Harry and Ron. That had been a month ago, and Ron had yet to say another word to her. She knew that Harry was trying desperately to keep the peace, but a fight was brewing anyway. She and Ron would have it out, and it would not be pretty.

Frankly, though, at this point she didn’t care. They had overstepped their boundaries, and she was glad the warden had seen it the same way.

As the weeks went by, she continued to interview Malfoy and had come to learn a lot. She learned that while he felt loved and accepted by his mother, he had tried every which way to gain his father’s approval his entire life—tried and failed. When he was given his task by the Dark Lord, he thought it would be the turning point in their relationship. But he was wrong. Lucius spiraled down a dark path and left his son and wife to suffer in the process.

To Hermione’s knowledge, Draco had confided in only a handful of people while trying to achieve his task. Chiefly, his best friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. But Crabbe had died all too memorably at the Battle of Hogwarts, and following a psychotic episode not long after that, Gregory Goyle had been institutionalized.

There was one other, however.

It was this other confidante that brought Hermione to the once formidable castle that was Hogwarts this very day. While reading over Malfoy’s file again, she had recalled Harry’s excited discovery of sixth year, when he had reported that Draco was confiding in Moaning Myrtle. Myrtle had even gone so far as to defend Draco to Harry.

As she wanted an outsider’s perspective about Draco and his mission, Myrtle would have to do. Hermione needed someone to fill in blanks for her—and possibly give her insights into Draco’s frame of mind.

With Headmistress McGonagall’s approval—an approval that was easily granted once Hermione had promised to stop by for tea afterwards—Hermione entered the second floor lavatory. She found Myrtle hovering over the stalls, crying. It was comforting to find that some things never changed.

“Hello, Myrtle.”

Myrtle stopped mid-air and stared at Hermione. When recognition dawned, she tilted her head and flew down to face her. “You’re not a student anymore,” she said in her high-pitched voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Hermione realized that Myrtle might be difficult to deal with. “I was given permission to come on the grounds.”

“Oh.” Myrtle stopped swirling in the air and lowered her pointing, accusatory finger. “Well, that’s fine, I guess.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hermione said. She met Myrtle’s hard stare evenly. “I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” Myrtle’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s about Draco Malfoy.”

Myrtle gave a dramatic sigh and flitted about, wailing. Finally, she calmed herself enough to say, “Poor boy.”

“Yes, well, he’s not a ‘boy’ any longer. He’s in prison.”

“Azkaban? Whatever for?” Myrtle cried, clearly angered by the news.

“He was accused and convicted of killing his father.”

This stopped Myrtle short. She moved to sit atop the stall and stared down at Hermione, making her feel small beneath her ghostly gaze. “He wouldn’t do that,” Myrtle insisted.

“How do you know?”

“He never wanted to hurt anyone! He always wanted to protect people.”

“Protect who?”

“His parents! The Dark Lord threatened to Imperius him and force him to kill his own parents. That’s why he was always in that room! Kill his father! As if! He barely ate or slept that year.”

It was a relief to work with someone talkative and excitable like Myrtle. This was definitely going somewhere. Hermione conjured a chair and folded her hands in her lap as she sat. “Did he specifically mention his father?”

Myrtle contemplated this then nodded. “Yes. He said that his father had been good to him.”

“Had been?”

“Well,” Myrtle demurred. “His father hit a few times. Things like that. But Draco wouldn’t like me telling you these things.”

Just when she was making progress! “Myrtle,” Hermione said, trying not to panic. “I’ve been talking to him in prison. I’m a psychologist.”

She raised an eyebrow at that and frowned. “And would you use this against him?”

“Not at all. I’m looking to help him, not hurt him.”

Myrtle relaxed quite visibly. “That’s good, helping him. He doesn’t need to be hurt any more. Not after what Harry Potter did to him in this bathroom. He nearly died!” Voice hardening, she said, “Harry Potter was your best friend, wasn’t he?”

“Harry made mistakes. Everyone has.”

Myrtle nodded emphatically. “Big mistakes.”

“But Draco’s made some too.”

“No! He was forced,” Myrtle screamed.

“How was he forced?”

Myrtle took a deep breath. “I suppose I can tell you now, since the war’s over and all that,” she sniffed. “He was working on a cabinet. He had to fix it. If he failed…”

“And why did he tell you this? How did you become friends?”

“Quite like I came to know you, actually,” Myrtle said, giggling now. “He was brewing Polyjuice potion here!”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she remembered how Crabbe and Goyle had guarded the Room of Requirement while Polyjuice’d. “And he chose this room?”

“Of course! That’s where all the students breaking rules come to brew their potions. Other ghosts would report them, but not me. I’m friendly, you know.”

Hermione smiled. “Quite right. You’re rather charming.”

Suddenly, Myrtle was in Hermione’s face; Hermione felt a rather cold finger pass through her brain as Myrtle jabbed her finger at Hermione’s forehead. “I don’t need you mocking me!”

“I wasn’t!” This seemed to calm Myrtle down a bit, but Hermione still moved to be farther away from the volatile ghost. At a safe distance, she continued her line of questioning: “Is there anything else you can tell me about Draco? What did he say about his family?”

Myrtle thought for a moment, a finger to her chin. She narrowed her eyes. “You have to promise you’re only going to help him.”

Nodding fervently, Hermione said, “Promise.”

“He said that he sometimes hated his father. He made him…do things he didn’t like. But it was a ‘Malfoy’s duty’. I don’t know what he meant by it, but he said it a lot.”

Hermione made a note of the phrase. That was enough, for now. She gave Myrtle a tentative smile. “Thank you, Myrtle. You’ve been very helpful.”

*~*

McGonagall poured tea for the both of them. Hermione had always loved the woman, both as a professor and now as a friend. When Hermione first decided o her career, it was McGonagall who had been most receptive and encouraging.

“So tell me why you needed to talk to Myrtle.” McGonagall stirred a bit of lemon into the tea.

“I’ve been interviewing Malfoy while he’s incarcerated at Azkaban,” Hermione said. She picked up her cup, blowing softly at the surface, but placed it down in favor of adding some milk. Stirring slowly, she continued, “At first he wasn’t forthcoming, but I’ve finally gotten him to talk. I’ve been trying to figure out how he got to where he is, especially with his privileged background. And then there’s his father’s murder….”

“And have you made much progress?”

“A little,” Hermione answered, placing the spoon back on the table and picking up the cup once more. “But he’s been very closed off about his father and their relationship.” Remembering the bit about Malfoy’s final exam in first-year Potions, Hermione continued, “Professor, would you verify something for me, please?”

“I’ll do what I can.” Curiosity colored McGonagall’s tone.

As she began to recount Malfoy’s story, Hermione felt certain that McGonagall would expose the lie for what it was, but as she continued to speak, she began to worry that the story was true after all. McGonagall didn’t jump up in outrage, but sighed and nodded slowly as Hermione finished, “I just want to know if it’s true—if it’s true that he had to take another exam without Snape there.”

“It is true,” McGonagall said. When Hermione made an angry noise, she held up her hands. “Listen. Lucius Malfoy was still on the Board of Governors. It wasn’t unreasonable to suspect that Draco was receiving extra help from Snape, who was, after all, a close friend of the Malfoys. And it was the only class you didn’t receive top marks in. That it just happened to be the one class Professor Snape taught and the one where Draco excelled… well you see why we thought there might be an issue there.”

“And you went after the student instead of directly confronting Snape?”

“It wasn’t like that,” McGonagall insisted, shaking her head.

Hermione’s mind was whirling. “Who administered this exam?” she demanded.

“Professor Sprout and I,” McGonagall said evenly.

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, holding tight the teacup in her hands. It was true—it was all true. And it had been McGonagall, one of her favorite professors, who had in all likelihood insisted upon it.

“Hermione, you have to understand. His father had more influence than any Governor ought to have, and his relationship with Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House, which we all know hates Muggle-born. It was our duty to make sure nothing underhanded was happening.”

“But then you found out that no, he wasn’t cheating; he was merely bright and gifted at Potions,” Hermione said dully.

“Brilliant, really,” McGonagall said, as if that settled the matter. “We gave him a fair test given his marks, and he proved himself worthy of them. That is all.”

“That is all?,” Hermione cried angrily, clanking the teacup down. Hot liquid sloshed out of the cup. “He was an eleven-year-old boy!” The haunted expression Draco had worn when he recounted the exam rose in her mind. Not for the first time, Hermione felt her heart going out to him. So much had been thrust upon him at such a young age. In this way, he was not unlike Harry.

But everyone—or at least Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive and Headmaster of Hogwarts to boot—had wanted Harry to succeed. He was the Chosen One, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived. Sure, Draco Malfoy had grown up with power and prestige to his name. Sure, his family had been feared. But he had been loathed by everyone he met. Snape had mistreated Harry for being Lily and James Potters’ son; the world had judged Draco Malfoy for being Lucius Malfoy’s son. What gave?

McGonagall huffed out a breath. “Hermione, I know it seems unfair and rash now in retrospect, but you should remember that you were a very bright child. The best witch we’d seen in years! It didn’t make sense for Draco Malfoy, a good student but nothing extraordinary, to top you.”

“I won’t be flattered into calling your actions for anything other than what they are—a travesty!”

“We did what we thought was right! We got him to prove his skill, just as you and all the other students had to prove yourselves in fifth-year with O.W.L.S.”

“We took our O.W.L.S. for our careers. We were old enough to understand why they were important. If you suspected wrongdoings, you should have investigated Lucius and Professor Snape. Draco never should have been put in that position!”

“We should agree to disagree, my dear,” McGonagall said with finality. “Have you forgotten what would happened to Muggle-borns when Voldemort and his followers, the Malfoys first and foremost among them, had the power in this world?”

Hermione exhaled sharply. She could see that McGonagall would not admit her wrong-doing, especially when it came to Malfoy. At first, Hermione had felt that way too, but she’d come to terms with what she’d done to help drive Draco to where he currently was; he had made her feel unwanted in the Wizarding world, but the world had made Draco feel unwanted. And it had become abundantly clear that it fell to her to protect him now that everyone was determined to vilify him. Hermione stood slowly and donned her overcoat. “Thank you for your time, Professor, but I must be getting back to work.”

“Hermione,” McGonagall said, stunned at her former student's dismissal. “What is going on? Why are you so affronted on his behalf?”

She turned to face her one-time teacher and frowned. “Because despite what I wanted very much to believe, I must now accept that Draco was justified in his distrust of nearly everyone. In Sixth year, he couldn’t come to the teachers because he knew from past experience they they already suspected him and his family. No wonder he ended up how he is! If he’s a monster, we made him that way.”

Dumbstruck, McGonagall said, “My dear, Draco made choices. Horrible choices. He had opportunities to change…”

“Did he, really? When? First year, when he was forced to prove his intelligence to teachers who didn’t trust him or his family? Second year? When the entire school thought he was the Heir to Slytherin? Third year after the issues with Hagrid?” Hermione remembered how they had all believed that Draco had to be the Heir of Slytherin simply because he spouted off the same rotten dogma that his family did. He was eleven years old and inflicting a giant snake on the populace of the school was far-fetched. But they were blind to the possibility of it being anyone else. Their intelligence mission into the Slytherin common room had turned up no information about who the heir was and she had spent time in the infirmary after she turned herself into a cat. She also remembered his scream as the Hippogriff had attacked him and how everyone had only stood there and watched as he writhed on the ground. She didn’t like him, but no one was willing to act to help him until she urged Hagrid to do so.

“Issues with Hagrid?! Hermione, you were there! He provoked that Hippogriff. He nearly got Hagrid fired and Buckbeak nearly died, not to mention he jeopardized his own safety.” At this point, McGonagall was outraged. It was one thing to defend Draco, it was quite another to downplay everything he did by claiming he’d been wronged first. Hermione should know better than anyone that Draco was nasty to everyone he came in contact with and because of that, trust and understanding would have been hard for him to gain at any point. Now that he was imprisoned for killing his father, it would be nearly impossible for any rational person to defend him. And with a dawning realization, McGonagall realized that maybe Hermione wasn’t at all rational about this. The clear-headed girl she’d once known was obviously gone. And it was with great concern that McGonagall stepped forward, hoping to extend a hand and comfort her one time student.

But Hermione shrugged off her hand and frowned, tears brimming in her eyes. She was angry and sad on Draco’s behalf. He never had a chance. They’d never considered giving him one. “By that time he was already isolated away from the other houses. I remember it. I lived it! I remember his cruelty towards me! But what I also remember is that Slytherins were loathed by everyone. It was all the houses against them and it was perpetuated by not only the students but apparently by the teachers.”

“Hermione, do not make his choices so small and insignificant. He chose to work on the cabinet. He chose to let Death Eaters into this castle.”

“Right. And he chose not to kill Dumbledore. He chose not to turn Harry over to the Dark Lord when we were taken to his house. I know all too well of the choices that Draco has made.” She thought back to the look in his eyes as he’d vaguely talked about his task with the cabinet. He had uttered a few times that it was a task he was given to protect his family, and for that he would have done anything. It was sometimes hard to watch him divulge all of this information, knowing how afraid he must have been. And now, as she looked at the past, she knew that Draco had no choice in the things he’d done. He saw no other way out, no way to escape, and so his choices hadn’t been choices at all.

Hermione felt like she might be his only advocate in this world. And with that thought, she tightened the belt on her coat and looked up at the professor. “Good day, Headmistress,” she said before she turned and left her office.

*~*

Harry and Ron traveled by Floo powder to McGonagall’s office as soon as they received the request from the Headmistress. They found her pacing in front of her desk, wringing her hands. Harry hadn’t seen her this upset in years and he instantly felt uneasy.

“Professor, are you alright?” Harry asked as Ron hung back a bit.

McGonagall composed herself. “Hard to say, Mr. Potter.” She sighed. “I just had a rather disturbing exchange with Miss Granger.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Who hasn’t had a disturbing exchange with her recently?”

McGonagall looked at him seriously. “About Malfoy?”

Harry and Ron both nodded.

“I’ve never seen her so unreasonable,” McGonagall said. “She sees him as a victim—even for things he actually did and chose to do!”

Furrowing his brow, Harry said, “Professor, why don’t you tell us what happened?”

The professor recounted her conversation with Hermione. It was obvious by her tone and demeanor that she didn’t know what to do about being confronted in such a way by one of her star pupils, much less one she considered a friend.

“I’ve called you both because I’m concerned about her! I believe she’s become emotionally compromised.”

Harry frowned. “Professor, could it just be that she didn’t agree with the decision?”

“I thought so at first, Potter, but now I realize she’s angry about a great many things that she considers to be injustices. I’ve not seen her like this in a very long time. Not since she was involved in the welfare of house-elves.”

Ron folded his arms over his chest. “I told you, Harry. She’s too invested in this.”

Harry sighed, studying the floor. At great length, he turned to McGonagall. “What do you think?”

“I think Hermione is on a strange path and…treading too heavily may be disastrous.” McGonagall remembered Hermione’s reddened cheeks and angry eyes as she had practically screamed in McGonagall’s face. Hermione, she feared, was already gone.

Ron shook his head. “We have to talk to her. We need to get her off his case.”

“It’s about more than Draco Malfoy, Weasley. Something’s wrong. I can sense it.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Harry promised.

Ron nudged Harry in the arm. “You mean, ‘we’ll talk to her.’”

Harry shook his head. “No. She doesn’t think you’re capable of being objective about her career path or her current investigative topic. Let me talk to her, alone.”

McGonagall put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Talk to her soon, Potter. The sooner the better.”

*~*


	4. I Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go, again, to Raa and Kim for betaing this chapter for me. They're fabulous and have really shaped this into being what I wanted it to be.

Harry Floo’d into Hermione’s flat and found her seated on her sofa, a cup of tea on her coffee table as well as a stack of papers and what appeared to be photographs. She looked up at him, confusion on her face. She didn’t know why Harry was there, but the truth was that she wasn’t feeling very welcoming to her long-time friend.

He stepped forward and heaved a sigh as he realized that the pictures were of the crime scene of Narcissa Malfoy’s murder and Lucius’ disappearance. She was consumed with this case, and Harry knew he would have to tread with caution. “How’s it going?” he asked as he moved to sit beside her on the sofa.

She furrowed her brow and turned her full attention to Harry. “Fine.” After a moment of silence she folded her arms over her chest. “Why are you here?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m worried about you,” he answered. He sat back on the sofa, trying to remain casual even though he knew this conversation would be difficult.

“What about me?” She didn’t like how this conversation was starting; in fact, she was uneasy at his trying to remain so calm and collected. “Harry, spit it out.”

“McGonagall fire-called me. She told me about your conversation and how upset you got.”

“Well, she was out of line,” she said as she stood and took her tea into the kitchenette.

Harry followed her. “But it happened years ago, Hermione. And as much as we’d want to go back and change things, we can’t.”

“That’s just it, Harry,” she said angrily. “She doesn’t think she did anything wrong. She wouldn’t go back and change how she treated a eleven-year-old boy.”

“Hindsight, Hermione. Knowing what you do now, would you have treated Malfoy any differently than you did back then? I can almost guarantee you that he wouldn’t treat you any differently.” He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “He was horrible to you. I know you know that. I don’t have to tell you. You lived it. But I feel like…”

“Hold on, Harry. You’re not going to stand there and tell me what happened. As you said, I lived it. I don’t need you to remind me of the past. I’m clear on what happened and his part in it all.”

“Are you?” he questioned. “You’ve tried to justify his actions repeatedly to Ron and me. Yes, he was a child, but he was making adult decisions and hurt people. Do you get that?”

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Yes, I get that.” She looked down at the floor momentarily. “But our environment helps to shape us into who we are. Our experiences. You know that as well as anyone,” she said. “And I maintain that from the second Draco entered Hogwarts, the distrust and disdain from the professors helped to push him into the decisions he made later.”

“I’m not arguing that, Hermione. But Snape treated us poorly…”

“And look how much we didn’t trust him. Every year we suspected that he was up to no good and the whole time he was protecting us. Protecting you! How much trouble would we have avoided if we were able to look at things clearly, without our bias playing a part? And once Sirius was in the picture, how much did that colour your impression of Snape?”

Harry just stared at her. He didn’t know what to say to that, but he was sure of one thing: Hermione had become emotionally invested. He knew it by how vehemently she was defending Malfoy. “Hermione, I’m going to say something you’re not going to like, but I want you to hear me out.” He could see her visibly steel herself by the way her shoulders stiffened. “I think you’re too invested in Malfoy.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s my research subject. Of course I’m invested.”

He shook his head. “I mean, emotionally invested. You’re trying to rationalize irrational behavior. Terrible, horrible things that Malfoy has done—you’ve managed to justify them to yourself and you’re now trying to force those justifications on others.”

“Minerva tell you that?” she asked hotly.

He shook his head. “I’ve formed my own conclusion based on our current conversation.” He urged her to sit at the table, but she refused. He looked at her, trying to get her to see reason. “Hermione, you’ve argued with Ron and me about Malfoy. You took McGonagall to task for something that happened years ago. You’re…I feel your judgment is clouded about this issue. You’re not seeing this clearly. Malfoy is dangerous. It’s the reason he’s in prison. He killed his father…”

“You don’t know that for sure,” she answered. “You have no evidence that he did anything to Lucius. For all you know, Lucius Malfoy is sitting in Siberia laughing about the fact that everyone thinks he’s dead.”

“Listen to what you just said, Hermione. From everything you know about Lucius Malfoy, do you think for one second he would fake his own death and leave his son to hang for it? Would he really let his heir, the one to carry on the family name, rot in prison for something he didn’t do?”

“After all I’ve heard from Draco, all the research I’ve done, yes, I think he would. You don’t know what I know, Harry. You don’t know about their relationship…” she said as she began to wash her tea cup, trying to keep the tears at bay. It was one thing for McGonagall to distrust her or chastise her. It was quite another for Harry to doubt her.

“And you’re under the assumption that everything Malfoy is telling you is true.”

She turned and faced him then. “And why would he lie? He’s not getting out of Azkaban. He’s there for life thanks to the testimony you and Ron provided during his trial. What point is there to lie?”

Harry felt like he was fighting a losing battle and he felt helpless. “Hermione, Malfoy’s always lied.”

“Has he? Name an instance where you remember him telling you a lie.”

Harry frowned. The truth was, he couldn’t actually remember an incident where he lied. He knew he didn’t trust Malfoy, with good reason. But he couldn’t find a way to describe to Hermione that he wasn’t to be trusted. “Just as I thought. I believe he’s a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Would you just consider what I said? Malfoy isn’t trustworthy. I feel like you’re too invested in this case, this research, and your judgment is impaired,” he said, nearly pleading with her to understand. “You’ve gotten too close, Hermione.”

She glared at him and put her hands on her hips. “You listen to me, Harry Potter. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me how I feel or what I am. I’ve been working on this case for months and I don’t appreciate you or Ron or McGonagall telling me that I’m not seeing things clearly. Maybe I’m the only one who has actually taken the time to see things the way they really were. We’ve all made mistakes. And the fact that Draco was convicted of murder without even a body to confirm that one took place is a travesty of justice.” She turned back to her sink. “You need to leave.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t want you to be angry with me, Hermione. I’m concerned about you.”

“Yes, well, you’re not my dad, Harry. And as you well know, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Now, get out,” she said as she brushed pass him and went back into her living room. She sat on the sofa and went back to reading the files in front of her.

It was obvious she was done listening and talking. He didn’t know what to do. He felt helpless and didn’t know how to solve this problem. In the past, he’d ask her. She had always been his rock, the one he could depend on to help solve his problems. But now, she was the problem. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said as he walked to the fireplace. “I hope you’ll think about what I said.”

She glanced up at him and he could see the tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall. “And I hope you’ll think about what I said.”

He gave her one last sorrowful look before he Floo’d out of her flat. Hermione tossed the files onto the coffee table, put her head in her hands, and let the tears she’d been holding at bay fall. She hated feeling so betrayed by her friends. They all thought she was some silly girl who wasn’t seeing things the way they were. But the truth was, she felt like her eyes were opened to the truth for the first time. She’d make them all understand. She’d make everyone understand.

*~*

Hermione entered Azkaban and signed in as she usually did. As she made her way to the cell, she flipped through the file in her arm. She’d had the brilliant idea the night before. After her conversation with Harry, she knew what she had to do to get them to see that she wasn’t putting her trust in the wrong place and the wrong person.

She stopped in front of Draco’s cell and saw him lying back on his bed, his arms folded beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling. He glanced at her as she conjured a chair and sat just outside the bars. “Morning, Granger.”

“Draco,” she said as she opened his file. “I have a proposition for you.”

She could see him smirk from where he was laying on the bed. “Much as I would enjoy the romp, I don’t think it’s feasible inside my prison cell.”

She rolled her eyes, but blushed despite herself. “Not that sort of proposition,” she answered softly.

“Pity,” was his answer.

She took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m going to get your case reopened,” she said flatly.

He sat up at that and tilted his head at her. “Why?”

“Because I believe you’re innocent.”

He stood then and walked to the bars. His expression was one of curiosity and possibly hope. “Why? No one else has believed in me. Why would you?”

She looked up at him and sighed. “I think you were railroaded. You were on trial for a crime that no one is convinced happened. I think Harry and Ron used their names and their popularity to get you convicted. I also think that we can argue that your past had a lot to do with the choices you made during sixth year and we can convince them of that.”

He shook his head. “They’ll never give me another trial.”

“Yes, they will. They’ll have to once I speak with your barrister about the mishandling of your case by the Auror department and public perception being against you.”

At that he seemed to pale a bit. “Don’t. Look, just leave it, Granger. I appreciate that you think I’m innocent, but it won’t do any good. I was convicted, by whatever means it happened, it’s just the way it is.”

“You don’t want me to talk to your barrister?”

“No. I don’t feel he took my case seriously.”

She thought about that and all that she had read. She could see how Draco could feel that way. And she was determined not to let him down. He’d been wronged so often by people he should have trusted, she could see how it would be hard for him to trust anyone at this point.

“I’ll find a new barrister, then. I believe you’re innocent. I’ve rarely ever lost an argument and I’m certain I can convince someone to take on your case,” she said evenly.

He stared at her for a moment and then smiled. “You know, Granger, you continuously surprise me.”

She blushed again, feeling the heat of it in her cheeks and moving down her neck. “Good surprises I hope.”

He nodded. “Most definitely. You’ve…you’ve really given me a chance and I haven’t had one of those in a very long time.”

Hermione looked up at him and felt, not for the first time, a strange fluttering in her stomach. It felt nice to have someone praise her, to give her the credit she felt she deeply deserved. This case had been tasking, especially since she had to get over her initial bias for Malfoy. But now, she could see how wrong she was about him all those years. She could see how he was very much like a wounded animal who had lashed out because it was all he knew.

She returned the smile and then looked back at her notes. “Let’s get to work on today’s session,” she said as she used her pen to make a note in the file to find Draco a new barrister. “We’re going to do something a little different. Let’s try word association.”

He rolled his eyes and moved back to his bed. “A little trite, isn’t it?”

“Let’s just try it, shall we?”

“Fine,” he huffed and lay back on his bed.

“Fate,” she said, and looked at him.

“You want to know something funny? I used to think of Fate as evil – predetermined – not by some higher power, but by the rules of human nature.” He paused for a moment and stared at her pointedly. “But, today, that’s all changed,” he said softly.

“What’s changed?”

He ran a hand over his shaved head and heaved a sigh. “Have you ever had the feeling that your entire life has been building towards this one moment?”

“Is that how you feel?” she asked, confused as to where he was going with his thought.

“Well, now, yes. Now, I realize that all the battles, the bad days, the brutalities – it was all the hand of Fate at work.”

“So, now you see it differently?” she questioned.

He nodded. “Yes. I don’t believe there are chance encounters. It was all meant to be. Everything leading up to today, and…what you’ve done for me.”

She could feel her pulse quicken. Hermione was flustered, truly put in a quandary. Everyone had accused her of being emotionally compromised, but with his words, she felt that maybe there was hope there. Maybe it was Fate that had brought them together.

Hermione felt that she was in a bit of a strange spot. On one hand, she wanted to remain unbiased and continue to investigate and interview him. But on the other, she knew she was emotionally invested in him. Despite what Harry or anyone else might say, she knew that her opinions and feelings for Malfoy had shifted over time. They had to, in her mind. But instead of interrupting him, she let him continue.

“You might say it’s changed everything.”

She didn’t say anything; she just watched him as his eyes stared into hers and she nearly panicked, afraid that he could see the myriad of emotions warring within her.

“You know as well as I do the vile world we live in,” he continued. “How lonely it is to wade through all the wretch and filth on your own.”

She knew her heart was racing and it was from the excitement of having someone recognize her. She knew then and there that she would do anything she could to save him. “It is lonely, isn’t it?” she said as she lowered her head. Lately, it felt even more lonely than usual.

“Of course. You understand! Even in a crowd of others, you’re so alone that you can kick, claw, yell scream at the top of your lungs…” He shifted on the bed and scratched his chin, but he never broke eye contact with her. It made her feel even more exposed. “And no one cares. It’s like you don’t even exist.”

Hermione folded her arms over her chest, wanting to protect herself because his words felt too true. No one had ever really understood her. Harry and Ron were her friends, but she had always felt more invested in them than they were in her. And now that Harry was going to marry Ginny and Ron was taking the most hostile position that he could take against her job, she felt even more alone in the world. And the only person who understood what it was like to feel alone in the world was the one currently staring at her with something akin to fascination and possibly, she hoped, something a bit deeper.

She hoped that he was feeling the same way she did. She knew she was attracted to him, as she’d admitted that to herself two weeks into their talks. After he’d opened up to her and began to tell her about his life, his past and relationships, she began to see him in a new light. And last night, as she was examining his file and all of her notes, she realized that she might be more deeply involved than she had originally intended. She just hadn’t expected to feel such a connection.

“And then one day, it changes. I was…terrible to you when you first started coming here. But I didn’t want to relive everything. You, of all people should know, there’s nothing so cruel as memory. And in here, behind these bars, you can’t even escape into madness.”

As his words tumbled out in a soft voice, she felt the hope in her chest grow stronger.

“And then you have an encounter that changes your life, and you feel that you don’t even know who you are anymore. It cleaves off little pieces of your past, deforms your memories and persona until you rethink your whole identity.”

She cleared her throat and broke eye contact, feeling too exposed. “And how does that make you feel?” she asked, afraid to look at him again.

“Adrift, like I’m floating. As if someone pulled the stopper on reality and I’ve been sucked into something new.” When he was silent for longer than she expected, she glanced up at him again and found him still staring at her, but this time, with an odd look on his face. One she hadn’t seen before. “It’s…exciting, really. But I’m sure you wouldn’t know what that feels like,” he finished, and he turned his gaze away from her and stared down at the grey, pinstriped mattress.

“I might, actually,” she said softly. “Any other feelings?”

He sighed. “Well, I’m feeling pretty exposed at the moment.”

She knew all too well how that felt. “I understand.”

His grey eyes met hers again and he gave her a soft smile. “I feel like I have finally found someone I can actually relate to. Believe me, I’ve never felt that before. But you understand,” he said as he moved forward on the bed and then stood at the bars, watching her. “You’re someone who’s not afraid to fall,” he said softly. “Do you know what I mean?”

She took a deep breath, realizing it was a huge step. “Yes,” she said softly as she stood and took one of his hands in hers. “Yes, I do.”

When he squeezed her hand back, she felt the file in her other hand drop to the floor. The sound of the papers hitting the floor startled her out of the moment. She bent down to pick them up and he helped her do so, even behind the bars. As he handed her the papers back, she looked up at him and made a vow that she would get him out. No matter what, she would see to it that he was a free man.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Draco.”

He rested his head against the bars. “I trust you, Hermione.”

It was the first time he’d used her actual name and she swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing that Draco, without actually saying the words, felt for her what she obviously felt for him. He had given her his trust, and it would not be something given in vain.

She stood and rearranged the papers in the file and watched as he stood as well. “I’m going to go. I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to get you a new trial.”

He nodded. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

It was the first time he’d ever asked her that, and she knew that his faith in her was something she shouldn’t take for granted. Draco didn’t trust people. The fact that he trusted her and was willing to have faith in her… she knew she had to do whatever was in her power to see that he receive the fair trial he so rightly deserved.

“Of course. I’ll be off for now, though,” she said as she turned away, casting one last look to see him watching her before she left. Determination was one thing Hermione had in abundance and she was going to do everything in her power to see that it worked in Draco’s favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, a lot of dialogue between Hermione and Draco comes from the video game Arkham Origins. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbsP_C562Wo I've put the link in here in case you wanted to watch it, but warning, it does give some stuff away so I recommend not watching it until the end. I give full credit to that conversation between Joker and Harley to making this part work.


	5. Sad Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Huge thanks go to Kim (aka amethyst18) for the huge amount of beta work she did on this thing. The finished product you have before you is a result of her having to wade through the crap that I turned in to her and what you have now is all her doing. I told her to push me, to be picky, and I think she did a fantastic job as a beta and a cheerleader! Thanks, Kim!  
> A/N 2: This chapter and all of the subsequent chapters are brought to you by the song “Man In The Box” by Alice in Chains. Not only does it have the feel I was going for, but the words actually worked in this instance.   
> A/N 3: This is much darker than I’m used to writing. In fact, it may be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. However, I love the pairing of Joker/Harley Quinn because it’s so dysfunctional, but at the same time, it’s probably the only part of the Batman series that I’ve ever actually liked. So, this is a result of my love for Joker/Harley.

It took quite a bit of effort, but Hermione finally found a barrister who actually didn’t slam the door in her face when told what she wanted. Daniel Bassett wasn’t a well known barrister, but he was looking to make a name for himself in the legal world and thought a high profile client like Draco Malfoy could be good for his reputation. He was a tall, thin man with a remarkable receding hairline and was prone to wearing suspenders. She’d spent an entire day presenting all of the evidence and her own testimony about the facts in the case to Daniel. After six hours of pouring over her notes and even the case file that Harry had presented her when she began her research, Daniel had released a sigh, causing Hermione to stop mid sentence and look at him.  
  
“Is there a problem?”  
  
Daniel leaned back in his seat and stared at her. “The problem isn’t going to be winning if this goes to trial, you do realize that, right? The problem will be convincing enough members of the Wizengamot that he deserves another trial in the first place.”  
  
“Yes, but we have all of this,” she said with a shake of her head. “It proves he’s innocent.” Daniel stood and walked to his tea service and held up a tea cup to her which she shook her head. He poured himself a cup and then added milk. She could tell he was avoiding telling her something and it made her nervous.  _Did he not believe in Draco’s innocence?_  “What are you not telling me?”  
  
He rolled his shoulders and then resumed his seat in the chair. “Draco Malfoy was convicted, maybe unjustly, but they had enough to suspect that he had something to do with his father’s disappearance. Circumstantial, though it may be, it was enough to sway over half the court, some of who were Lucius’ peers.”  
  
“Right, which means they went into it unbiased to begin with,” she argued.   
  
“Everyone has an opinion of the Malfoy family, Miss Granger. You, yourself, have an opinion of them. You find Draco to be innocent now, but years ago, you were certain of his guilt. It was only a few months ago that you believed it, as you marked in your notes. That’s not something that can simply be overlooked. The majority of the populace feels that the entire Malfoy family got off too easily after the war. Narcissa did a heroic act in the forest by lying to You-Know-Who , however, Lucius nor Draco made any such acts to prove that they had changed or fought of our side even. They were and still are considered by society as evil.  
  
“So, are you saying you feel Draco is guilty?”  
  
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I don’t care, really, if he’s guilty or innocent. It’s what I can prove. And while you’ve made an extraordinary case for doubt, the fact remains that after all these years there hasn’t been a sighting of Lucius Malfoy. And you know as well as I do, Miss Granger, that public perception rarely takes in whether someone is innocent of what they’re being charged with. I doubt anyone actually cares if Lucius is alive or dead. They’re just happy he’s not around and Draco is in prison, where a lot of them feel he belongs.”  
  
Her jaw tensed as she stared down at the mountain of credible evidence she knew she had. Draco Malfoy hadn’t done this. She was certain of his innocence. “Are you telling me I’m wasting my time?” she questioned.   
  
He shook his head. “No. This is worth a shot. We can present our findings to the court in an official plea for a new hearing. They’ll either say yes or no. But, you need to prepare for the fact that they might turn the plea away and not hear it.”  
  
She sat back in her chair and put her hands in her lap. She felt rage build within her as she thought about Draco’s appeal being denied. She reined it in, however, in order to continue with their conversation. “You’re telling me to prepare for the worst.”  
  
“Yes. But with all that you’ve found in your research, even the faults that the Auror department made in the investigation, they will probably rehear the case.”  
  
“But you don’t think it will provide us with the answer we want?”  
  
Daniel shook his head and looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry, but no. It can’t hurt to present it to them, though. Your name attached to it might bring it some publicity that we need to get them to actually look at it. That’s something.”  
  
“But if they’re not going to take it seriously…”  
  
He frowned. “It will be public. Motions filed with the high court always are. And with your name and Mister Malfoys attached to the same petition, it’s bound to get noticed. And that can be good for the case. If we can drum up enough public support then they’ll hear it.” She hated using her perceived popularity for her personal gain, but as of that moment, if it meant she could get Draco out of prison, she’d gladly walk starkers through the Ministry with a sandwich board to proclaim his innocence.  
  
“Campaign for his release, then?” she questioned.  
  
He nodded. “I was told you were once brilliant at that sort of thing.”  
  
She smiled. “Mister Bassett, you have no idea.”  
  
*~*  
  
Daniel Bassett had been correct in assuming that Hermione would launch herself wholeheartedly into campaigning for Draco. There were posters on every shop window. They were put up with charms meant to keep them there throughout the day. If someone managed to get the sticking charm off, they found one on the window the next morning. The Daily Prophet wrote about the appeal being sent to the High Court and there was public outcry from both the side that thought he was guilty and those that were willing to give Hermione the benefit of the doubt and believe that he could be innocent. If Hermione Granger believed it, after all, it couldn’t be so farfetched.  
  
The Ministry, of course, went on defense, parading Ron Weasley out to the masses to swear to Draco’s guilt as well as their investigation being on the up and up. Harry Potter had remained quiet, but when prodded by the papers gave a simple statement. “I stand behind my work.” It was like a slap in the face to Hermione. She hated that they wouldn’t relent on their belief. When Ron had approached her at the Leaky Cauldron one day, he was nearly hexed in his head before Hermione had left. She was so infuriated with her friends that she had sent every plea they’d owled to her back unopened. Harry tried to get through her floo only to find that it was blocked against him.  
  
He’d been one of the first to receive the directive from the Ministry. They’d denied Draco’s appeal for a new trial. He held the letter in his hand as he apparated to the outside of Hermione’s building. He couldn’t floo into her flat, but he could walk the three flights up and knock on the door.  
  
He stood there only a few minutes before the door opened and he was met by a red eyed Hermione. She went from crying to fury in only seconds. “What the hell do you want?”  
  
“I want to talk.”  
  
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said as she tried to slam the door in his face. He put his hand out and stopped her. “Get out, Harry.”  
  
He pushed past her into her apartment and found pictures and notes pinned to the walls of her flat. Draco’s mugshot, he’s staring stoically at the camera and there is a hint of a smirk on his face, pictures of the crime scene, documents with red twine linking them to pictures and diagnostics that had been run on the blood stain. Financial documents with areas highlighted. There wasn’t a piece of wall to actually be seen. The extent of her obsession hit Harry hard. He turned to Hermione and found her still standing beside her door, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes red rimmed to show she’d been crying. “I came to talk to you about this case.”  
  
“I have nothing to say to you. Or Ron. In fact, plan to not speak to me again. Any of you.”  
  
He frowned. “Hermione, I came here because I knew how upset you’d be.”  
  
“Oh? You didn’t come here to gloat? Tell me I’d lost my bloody mind?”  
  
“No. I wouldn’t do that to you!”  
  
“Ron had no problem doing that earlier today! Called me insane for listening to Draco and his lies…”  
  
He sighed and shook his head. “Hermione, you’re my best friend. More so than Ron. I hate to see you so upset.”  
  
“But you don’t feel bad in the least that an innocent man is rotting behind bars.”  
  
“Malfoy isn’t innocent!”  
  
“He’s not a murderer!”  
  
He folded his arms over his chest and looked at the floor. “Hermione, please listen to reason…Whether or not we’re on different sides of this thing, you’ve isolated yourself away from your friends, your family for this. You’re not listening to any of us. You’re just…consumed by this. I’m scared for you.”  
  
“I can handle myself, Harry. I wish you, Ron, and everyone else in my life would back off and let me be.”  
  
He sat and put his head in his hands. “It’s hard, Hermione. We see you spinning farther and farther down and we’re helpless to get to you. You’re keeping us all away from you! I don’t…I don’t know how to help you. I’ve tried to be polite and understanding, but this is ridiculous. You’re defending someone who doesn’t deserve it.” He looked up at her then. “You’re obsessed with this case and stopped seeing this objectively months ago.”  
  
She glared at him and he saw her hand flinch and he knew that if her wand hadn’t been sitting on the table in front of him, she probably would have hexed him. “That seems to be the consensus. First Ron, then Minerva, then my guide, and now you.”  
  
“Your guide?”  
  
She walked over to the table and read over the notice that removed Hermione from the program and revoked her rights to visit Malfoy. “Healer Smithe, my boss you’ll remember, feels I’ve been compromised as well. Thank you and Ron for ruining Draco’s life and my career.” She walked to the door and held it open. “Please leave.”  
  
He stood and walked over to her. He stopped before he left. “Hermione, I care about you. You’re like a sister to me and I need you in my life. I only hope that, one day, you’ll be able to forgive me.”  
  
She didn’t look at him as he closed the door behind him. She sank to the floor and brought her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her hands as he cried. She’d lost everything. Her friends, her reputation, her career, and even Draco. She looked around the room then and realized that she could salvage one part. It was a crazy idea, one that probably wouldn’t even work, but she couldn’t let the injustice keep happening. She felt her magic flowing through to her finger tips and knew that this was what she wanted and she wasn’t going to waste any more time pursuing it.


	6. Edge of the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Huge thanks go to Kim (aka amethyst18) for the huge amount of beta work she did on this thing. The finished product you have before you is a result of her having to wade through the crap that I turned in to her and what you have now is all her doing. I told her to push me, to be picky, and I think she did a fantastic job as a beta and a cheerleader! Thanks, Kim!  
> A/N 2: This chapter and all of the subsequent chapters are brought to you by the song “Man In The Box” by Alice in Chains. Not only does it have the feel I was going for, but the words actually worked in this instance.   
> A/N 3: This is much darker than I’m used to writing. In fact, it may be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. However, I love the pairing of Joker/Harley Quinn because it’s so dysfunctional, but at the same time, it’s probably the only part of the Batman series that I’ve ever actually liked. So, this is a result of my love for Joker/Harley.

In Azkaban at night, the only sounds that echoed through the stone walls were the screams of other inmates or the howling wind from outside. The darkness filled the halls, which made the screams louder, more terrifying. After years inside the walls, it still wasn’t something a person could get used to hearing.   
  
That’s why, when the shouts from outside the walls sounded through the night, Draco leapt from his bed. He quickly moved to stand on his cot and look out the small window that was situated over it, trying to see what was happening. He didn’t see anything at first, but a flash of shadow rushed pass his window and then a bolt of green light followed it. The shadow appeared again, blocking out what little light there was. Suddenly, he saw a bolt of light come flying at the wall of his cell and he dove off the bed, barely escaping the shattered stone as it crashed around him. The shouting grew louder and he could see that the shadow was someone firing off spells from a broom.  
  
He crawled to the hole that the blast had made and looked down at the water crashing onto the rocks below. He could hear the guards shouting as they began to move down the hall towards his cell, looking to contain him before he escaped. He stood at the edge, watching the shadow as it moved through the air and stepped back only a moment as one of the guards fell from the ledge above his cell, his screams following him to the craggy earth below.  
  
“MALFOY!” one of the guards shouted, aiming his wand at him from between the bars. Draco glanced at him momentarily, holding his hands up. The guard rushed in and grabbed him around the throat, trying to haul him back. The shadow then landed in the cell, wearing a theater mask for Humor, with slanted eyes and upturned smile, and the rest of the person’s body covered in a black cloak. The figure fired a spell off at the guard and Draco lunged forward and shoved the guard’s arm against the bar, hearing the bone snap at the force. He grabbed the wand and pointed it at the figure.   
  
He watched as they mounted the broom, held a hand out to him, and said only one phrase. “Trust me.” He knew the voice and there was only one person who would be as bold and brash as to attempt something like this. He allowed himself a small smile before he rushed forward, climbed onto the broom behind her and they took off into the night sky. By now, a few of the guards had mounted brooms and were on their tail, but Draco dispatched them with the stolen wand from the guard and soon, they were confident they weren’t being followed.   
  
The sun was beginning to rise by the time they landed. The adrenaline they both felt at the events of the evening had worn off and now they were faced with the ramifications of what they had done. They landed on a rocky beach beside what appeared to be a dilapidated house on the cliffs. Hermione opened the door and ushered him inside.   
  
Hermione Granger removed the hood and cloak as well as the mask. Her wild hair was pulled back into a pony tail and the tight suit she was wearing beneath the clothes leant itself to sleek movements. He could see why the cloak wasn’t cumbersome as it seemed to mold to her body when she moved, but hid her womanly curves to hide detection of who she was. She tossed the wand onto the side table and moved into the kitchen and placed a kettle on the stove.   
  
She could feel his eyes on her as she moved about the small kitchenette which she had stocked over the last couple of days. She went about making breakfast and mostly ignoring his presence. She was waiting for him to say something to her. A ‘thank you’; ask her what she was thinking. Anything was better than the silence that settled between them. When she turned, she found Draco leaning against the doorframe of the room.   
  
He looked even more gaunt than in prison. The harsh light of day did little to hide the fact that his eyes seemed to be sunk into his face, his cheek bones more pronounced than in his youth. She could see the corded muscle of his neck and the protruding bones of his collar bone. He was severely underfed and it only fueled her resolve that she did the right thing. She placed toast with jam on the table as well as a quickly made omelet. She urged him to sit down and she took the seat beside him.   
  
He was still watching her and she could see his brow furrow in confusion and then he began to eat the food in silence. She took a deep breath and sipped at her tea before taking her own bite of toast. He finished his too quickly, which she thought he might pay for later as rushing through a meal after being deprived of nutritious food for so long could be dangerous. However, he sat back in his chair and then sighed. “Can I ask you why you did this?”  
  
She placed her tea cup on the table in front of her and nodded. “Of course. When they denied your appeal for a new trial…I knew you would never get justice. There are those out there who were out to ruin your family and your reputation and if you were in prison then they would be able to sleep at night. I know you are innocent,” she said as she took one of his hands in hers and he squeezed her fingers back. “No one would even listen to reason, with the exception of your barrister, Daniel, and I don’t even think he truly believed in your innocence.” She tightened her pony tail and then folded her arms over her chest. “You deserve better than to rot away in prison.”  
  
He stared at her for a long moment and then frowned. “What about your friends? They’ll be hunting us. You’ll be a wanted woman.”  
  
She shrugged. “Maybe now people will pay attention. And if you think I can’t hide from Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, then you don’t know me very well.”  
  
He scratched his chin for a moment and then smiled. “No, I don’t. But I’d like to,” he said softly.  
  
She blushed a bit and released a breath. She was relieved. The possibilities of a future with Draco were all standing in front of her. She would make sure she made his faith in her, in them, all worthwhile.  
  
“Let me ask you a question,” she said to which he nodded. “What do you think happened to your father?”  
  
At that, he shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that what fortune we’d managed to reacquire was gone and so was he.”  
  
“Would he do this to you on purpose?”  
  
“Yes,” was his softly whispered reply. “He did much worse to me in the past.”  
  
“Like what?” she questioned.  
  
He frowned as he stared at his tea cup. “After the war, after my mother’s death, we were destitute. All we had was the manor and it was nearly falling to ruins around us. He took me to a party one evening, some friend of his from Spain that I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler. And in the middle of the party, he told me to stay there and he left. The…men there…it was…an arrangement made by my father, to buy back some of our reputation and fortune. I spent two days in that house with those…savages brutalizing me in every way you could imagine. He taunted me about how he’d always wanted me, my fair skin and hair…” He swallowed the lump in his throat and Hermione felt tears behind her eyes thinking about how a father could do that to their own son.   
  
“We fought about it when he came to retrieve me. He sold me to the highest bidder and he said it was for the good of the family. I told him that I hated him and never wanted to see him again.” Draco put his head in his hands momentarily before he wiped them down his face and folded them on the table in front of him. He looked at her. “That was the last time I saw him. He betrayed me, knew I could never forgive what he did, and he took the small fortune he’d made off the evening and left. The man who reported him missing was the guy from Spain. Apparently, my father had told him there would be other ‘visits’ with me.” He shuddered as he spoke the words. “I showed him the door before I did something stupid like hex him.”  
  
She remained quiet as he spoke, watching as he fought back the tears at such a revelation. She knew he’d probably never told anyone what he’d just told her. “So, you asked if my father would do this to me, on purpose, then I have to say yes, absolutely. It’s why I was always reluctant to talk about him. When I think about what he did it makes my blood boil in anger and any fondness I had for the man or happy memories are erased by his expression when he arrived that morning to clean me up off the floor and take me home.”  
  
She reached out and touched his hand which caused him to look at her. “I’m…so sorry, Draco. I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything. You’ve done more for me than anyone has in a very long time and I owe you everything. My freedom, especially, but you’ve…you’ve managed to give me hope,” he lifted his hand and stroked over her cheek with his thumb. She captured his wrist in her hand and brought his knuckles to her lips where she placed a kiss on them. He swallowed thickly and then stood abruptly. “You know, Granger,” he started as he began to back up a bit, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had a shower…”  
  
She hid her smile behind her hand and nodded. “Right. Let me show you to the bathroom,” she said as she stood and led the way out of the room and up the three stairs to the next level. There was a small bathroom stocked for two people to inhabit the area. “You’ll find everything you need under the sink and there are clean clothes in the adjoining room.”  
  
He looked at the shower stall and turned on the taps, allowing the water to turn hot before he turned to face her. “Thanks, Granger. I owe you everything.”  
  
She smiled. “Get showered, Draco. It’ll make you feel like a new man.”  
  
*~*  
  
Apparently, she’d been right. Draco came out of the steamy bathroom and found her cleaning their dishes from breakfast. She jumped as his hands came around her waist and his lips found the pulse in her neck. Hermione shivered as his hands skimmed over her sides and cupped her breasts in his large hands. She moaned and turned in his arms, breaking his hold over her.  
  
She cupped his face in her hands and brought his lips to hers for their first kiss. She felt inadequate as he kissed her, his tongue tasting and teasing against hers. And as hers mingled with his, she felt encouraged by his moan. She tugged the white t-shirt he was wearing over his head and bit her lips as she saw how thin he was. She also noted scars crossing his shoulders, one of which ran across his chest down to his abdominal muscles. She traced the scar with her fingers and then leaned forward to place her lips over it, hoping to sooth his pain.  
  
He gasped and captured her face to bring their mouths together in a hot, wet kiss. He smelled of soap, his skin was even still hot to the touch. His hands moved through her hair and he tugged on the strands, holding her head back while his mouth plundered hers. She winced as the hold was tight, so she kept herself still and instead enjoyed the feel of his lips and tongue working over hers.   
  
Draco pulled her with him to the sofa in the living room while she tugged her shirt over her head. She heard his groan right before he put her beneath him on the sofa and began moving his lips down her throat. His hands skimmed over her sides and up to her breasts as her legs wrapped around his waist. As his mouth closed over one of her nipples, she released a loud moan, saying his name. He sat back, pulling her to straddle him. She reached between them and unfastened his jeans. Draco cupped the back of her head and brought her lips to his again. He broke the kiss momentarily and gave her a smile which she returned before she leaned in and kissed him again.   
  
*~*  
  
His lips moved over her spine while his hands moved over her bare thighs. His lips moved lower and lower and she sighed in contentment. Their first coupling had happened quickly once they moved to the sofa. In fact, Draco’s pants remained around his thighs and hers had dangled from one ankle. It had been hard, frantic, and fast. He came quickly, and he had apologized by shoving her to her back, spreading her legs, and lapping between her thighs until she came twice.  
  
They’d managed to make it to the bedroom and had collapsed in a tangle of limbs. And he’d spent the better part of an hour touching and kissing whatever skin he came into contact with. He rested his head on the middle of her back and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you for what you’ve done, Hermione.”  
  
She captured one of his hands in her own and brought it up to her lips where she kissed his knuckles before she rolled to her back and he moved into her arms. She moved her fingers through his hair and sighed. “What are we going to do?”  
  
He lifted his head to look up at her. The smile on his face was amused. “I hope a lot more of this,” he said with a chuckle.  
  
She playfully hit his shoulder and he chuckled. “Not what I meant.”  
  
He nodded and propped himself up on an elbow as he looked at her. “We should leave the country.”  
  
She nodded. “Maybe.”  
  
“You don’t think so?”  
  
She shrugged. “I feel like more should be done. There’s still been an injustice done, Draco,” she said as she sat up and brought her knees to her chest.  
  
He traced his fingers over the skin of her back. “Neither of us is in a position to fight that, now.”  
  
She frowned. “Maybe we’re in a better position to do so now,” she said, looking at him over his shoulder.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked. He reached up and tugged on the band in her hair and she helped him release it, allowing the curls to fall down her back unrestricted.   
  
“Obviously, the justice system is broken. Let’s prove how broken it really is.” She turned and faced him, then crawled over him and straddled his waist. His hands came up and captured her hips in his hands. “Hit them all where it hurts.”  
  
He sat up and left his arms around her waist. “In the purse,” he said after a moment, and then smiled. “You know, Granger, every time you open that sinful little mouth of yours I’m pleasantly surprised.”  
  
She felt his burgeoning erection beneath her and she grinned in response. “I see that.”   
  
“What are you proposing, exactly? Gringotts? They’ll find a way to give them the money back since it would be a security breach.”  
  
She shook her head. “Hit them at home. Take away their security that they’re safe there.”  
  
He tilted his head. “You keep saying ‘they’. Who exactly do you mean?”  
  
“I was thinking the man in Spain that…”  
  
“I don’t want to go back there ever,” he said adamantly and he moved from beneath her and sat on the edge of the bed. “All the things I went through during the war pale in comparison to that event…”  
  
“That is what started your incarceration anyway! He’s the one who suggested you killed your father. He’s the one that reported him missing. He expected more from you, Draco. Let’s…make him pay for it,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She placed a kiss on his jaw. “I’ll be there.”  
  
“Exactly. I don’t…I don’t know if I see him again if I can keep myself from killing him. I don’t want to become the murderer than you’ve worked tirelessly to prove I’m not. He’s a monster, an animal…”  
  
“Right. You don’t take pity on rabid animals by leaving them alive, Draco.”  
  
He glanced at her from over his shoulder. “And then what? We just start killing people.”  
  
“No. But you said there was a group of them. I say…no closure can come to you regarding what happened unless you seek it. Do that in whichever way you see fit.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
She bit her lip nervously. She was afraid she may have pushed too far. But the truth was she wanted them all to suffer. She wanted them all dead for hurting him the way they had. It was a very bizarre emotion. She had always sought to strike out against making other suffer. Hermione knew that this event, this horrific event had caused more problems for Draco’s psyche than he wanted to admit. The psychological effects of his torture and rape at the hands of his father’s associates were still with him, and she knew that it wouldn’t leave unless something was done about it. And there was no way they could depend on anyone in wizarding society to do what was right. Not even her friends.  
  
“I know it sounds crazy,” she said as she sat beside him, “but running away from what happened will only make it worse.”  
  
“Aren’t we doing that now?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrow.  
  
“No. We’re fighting for what’s right. What happened to you has probably happened to others. We’re ridding the world of monsters, something I’m rather familiar with.”  
  
He sighed and looked at her. “I’ll think about it.”  
  
She nodded. “No rush. In fact, I plan to keep you here, in my bed, for a while.”  
  
He smirked. “Oh? Big plans, then?”  
  
She tugged him on top of her. “Big. Huge,” she said with a laugh as he tickled her.


	7. Into The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Huge thanks go to Kim (aka amethyst18) for the huge amount of beta work she did on this thing. The finished product you have before you is a result of her having to wade through the crap that I turned in to her and what you have now is all her doing. I told her to push me, to be picky, and I think she did a fantastic job as a beta and a cheerleader! Thanks, Kim!  
> A/N 2: This chapter and all of the subsequent chapters are brought to you by the song “Man In The Box” by Alice in Chains. Not only does it have the feel I was going for, but the words actually worked in this instance. And this specific chapter is brought to you by “Once Upon A Dream” by Lana Del Ray.   
> A/N 3: This is much darker than I’m used to writing. In fact, it may be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. However, I love the pairing of Joker/Harley Quinn because it’s so dysfunctional, but at the same time, it’s probably the only part of the Batman series that I’ve ever actually liked. So, this is a result of my love for Joker/Harley.   
> A/N4 A lot of the interaction between Draco and Hermione has been taken from a video game. And I’ll give you the link at the end of the fic so you can all watch it yourself, but I feel like if I give it to you now, that would ruin what’s coming and I don’t want to do that!

Three weeks had passed in which they had numerous conversations regarding Hermione’s plan for Draco to seek retribution. In the meantime, they’d been getting to know one another, becoming familiar with one another’s idiosyncrasies. Draco was very moody in the morning and she tread lightly after he snapped at her for making too much noise. He had apologized, but she’d learned to tread lightly in the mornings since that incident.   
  
After numerous conversations about whether or not Hermione would think differently of him should he decide to go ahead with their revenge plot, she had reassured him in every possibly way that she wouldn’t change her mind about them, about him. And so they had gone to Spain to watch their prey. Hermione managed to figure out, after a few days of surveillance, what wards he had on his house, his daily routine, and how many guards he actually had that surrounded him. Unlike the plans she’d devised with Harry and Ron in the past, she learned that Draco was much different. He planned for contingencies. He was much more methodical than she was and she knew that his cunning nature suited well to this sort of venture.   
  
They took the man, who Hermione learned was named Santino Ortega, easily enough. Hermione had dispatched the guards while Draco had bound the man and made him admit to Hermione what he’d done, still wanting to reassure her that he’d been telling the truth about what he’d endured. He took a knife from Ortega’s own wall and slit his throat, Hermione watching on with vehemence and a new sense of righteousness. Hearing the words come from his mouth had only confirmed to her that this was the right path; that the revenge they sought for Draco and his plight were just and true.  
  
The second man had been much easier to take, as he hadn’t been expecting it. This one lived in a town house in the middle of London. Hermione had actually found pictures of Draco in the house, pictures from that horrific night. She burnt them immediately, wanting to erase that it ever happened. Hermione didn’t bother to tell Draco that they existed, for fear that it could damage him even more.   
  
The following day, the article in the  _Daily Prophet_  had declared that they were on the run and most likely were the ones behind the murder. After all, the man’s signature had been on the papers denying Draco’s appeal for a new trial. Hermione hadn’t realized it at the time, but she thought that his death was even more justified now. Not only had he horribly abused Draco, but he sought to silence and imprison him. Death may have actually been too kind.  
  
The third person they were caught in the act. They heard Harry and Ron burst through the door, both shouting Hermione’s name. Draco ushered Hermione to leave. “You have to go. I can handle them.”  
  
“Are you going to kill them?”  
  
He was silent for a moment and then shook his head. “No. I’ll let them live for you,” he said and pushed her towards the open window they’d come through. He gave her a quick kiss and Draco watched as Hermione left through the window and turned in time to bind both Harry and Ron and capture their wands in his hands. He then sent them back crashing into the wall, at which they both groaned. “Evening  _gents_ ,” he said as he slowly walked over to them. “Fine evening for a robbery and murder, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
Ron grunted. “You’re a psychopath.”  
  
His grey eyes cut over to Ron and tilted his head. “I am what you made me,” he said finally. “You didn’t have to kill my mother, Weasley. But you did. And Potter, here, covered it up for you. I was nothing before you ended her life. So, really, I owe you my thanks.”  
  
“It was an accident!” Ron screamed. “She surprised me!”  
  
“It still makes you a murderer. And Potter here is your accompliace.”  
  
“Kill us if you want, but release Hermione from the spell you have her under!” Harry shouted.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Spell? You think I have her bewitched,” he then laughed, loud and hard. “No! I couldn’t have planned this any better. You two idiots played your parts perfectly. Coming in every now and again to rough me up to ensure my silence about how you killed my mother...it only helped me to play on Granger’s sympathies. You practically drove her into my arms!” he continued to laugh. “Imagine, to my surprise, when she started championing my cause! I had  _the_  Hermione Granger fighting to get me released from prison for a crime I committed.”  
  
“You finally admit to killing your father?” Harry asked.  
  
“Oh, absolutely. After what he caused me to endure for his precious fortune and reputation, he deserved to die. The best part of this whole ordeal was I actually got Granger to not only begin helping me, but develop genuine feelings for me! And let me tell you, that girl is a pure sex kitten. Most nights I can barely keep up with her. And she tastes absolutely divine,” he taunted.   
  
He started towards the open window that Hermione had exited through. “The murders were her idea, you know,” he said as he swung a leg out and stared at her two friends. “I just filled in some blanks. Admittedly, I have little problem killing people now, and I was just going to settle with the two of you after she broke me out of prison and I left her crushed emotionally. But this little plan of hers, to make them all suffer so greatly, all her idea. She’s got the most brilliant mind. It’s almost as beautiful as her tits,” he said as he smiled meanly. “And to think I wouldn’t have ever had the opportunity to know any of that had she not seen you after you came in and broke my nose. In short,  _gents_ , I’m letting you live tonight because I owe you greatly for making Hermione a possibility for me. But don’t worry, once we’ve taken out the entire Ministry and she and I are running the entire wizarding world, I might let you live.” He tilted his head and smiled. “But probably not,” he said before he ducked out the window and raced across the ground to find Hermione hovering over the ground. She ducked down to him and leapt from the broom into his arms.  
  
“I was worried they were going to kill you,” she said into his ear.   
  
He brushed her hair down and kissed her temple. “Potter and Weasley have had their last opportunities to get one over on me, Granger. Let’s get out of here, though, before they get loose,” he said as he climbed onto the broom in front, her in the back and he took off into the night sky.

 

*~*  
  


Finish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End story notes: I have to say that when I stared this, I wrote the last chapter first. It was actually what drove my plot along. The hard part was getting to how I got Hermione to the point where she would assist Draco in the plot I had in mind. And in the end, I knew it had to be her idea. And I chalk it up to her being damaged by the war more than people thought. Going through what they did, it had to change who they were. And Hermione would put everything on the line for those she loved and for a cause she believed it. 
> 
> Credit: In the chapter where Hermione and Draco begin discussing the possibility of a future while he’s in prison is actually taken from a video game for Batman, in which the Joker first meets Harley Quinn, his therapist. I’m putting this here so you know that I’m totally giving credit where it deserves. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9akBjJZB29w
> 
> I also want to thank 30 Seconds to Mars for being such an amazing band and writing songs that really lend themselves to a fic like this. In fact, several of my chapter titles are taken from song titles and when this gets posted elsewhere, I’ll list them all out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please read and review. If you're a fan of the comics and know this couple, let me know what you think as I really hope that I've managed to capture both Harley and the Joker!


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